


Lemon Boy

by emmacortana



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Faerie AU, Faeries - Freeform, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Villain Tony Stark, also a lil bit of babes Harley Keener if u squint, well kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-05-13 10:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19249327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmacortana/pseuds/emmacortana
Summary: In the land under the hill, the Seelie and Unseelie courts have been hostile for millennia. Peter Parker is known as the bastard prince of Seelie, where his adopted mother, the Queen May, has raised him since he was found. His tainted human blood isolates him from the other fey, and brings dispute to his claim to the throne as May's only heir.When the gentry folk conspire to remove the prince, he is kidnapped by the mad faerie Norman Osborn, who has a twisted fascination with genetics. Desperate to go home, Peter manages to escape Norman's clutches, only to find himself on the wrong side of the border.Imprisoned in the Unseelie Court, Peter is now subject to the Iron King himself, Tony Stark.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all sorry for the shit summary if anyone can help it'd be very much appreciated bc I have a big fantasy for this entire thing but idk how to put it in the summary lol. The title is random too I couldn't think of one so I started listening to music and trynna think of one n lemon boy came on which u know, fit with how lemons and limes are poisonous to faeries.
> 
> This came to me in a half dream bc I've been thinking about Tony Stark as a villain, recently, but how that would reflect on his relationship with Peter, and I've also been thinking about Peter as different fantasy creatures—mermaid, shapeshifter, necromancer, you know. And also apparently, as a fey.
> 
> The prologue is written in a pretty formal style but don't worry, the actual chapters will be much more casual its just this one is, you know, like a background thing. The chapters will probably be longer too, just to let you know. I'm not planning for there to be too many more chapters bc I'm SHIT at long fits hhhh.
> 
> k bye.

When the Unseelie King had died centuries ago, he had named no heirs to pass down his crown.

Instead, facing death, he had ordered the blacksmiths of his land to craft a throne of the harshest of iron, blessed by a captured human priest who was then promptly executed. The iron had burned and the smiths, many melting their hands to a stump, and the forges were filled with cries of agony as each pound of the hammer made their hands blister with blood. Still, they continued in fear of the wrath of a dying king.

When the throne was finished, the king was on his deathbed. His counsellors were kneeled around his sickly body they fruitlessly begged him to name his successor, when their pleas were cut off as a servant rushed in and announced the completion of his demand.

The king had risen from the bed for the first time in weeks as his weakened body painfully marched out of his suite, down the corridor, and to the room where the seat awaited, cold and sharp and cutting.

When he sat down, he let no pain show on his face.

 _The next fey who sits on this throne and does not cry out can be the only heir to the sovereign,_ he declared, before the burning of the iron did away the last beat of his heart.

The gentry folk had become madness as, one by one, faeries marched up to the throne in a poor imitation of the late king, and perched themselves upon the chair.

Some wailed, some cried, some forced themselves to stay on the throne so long they were driven insane.

All were executed.

A fortnight later, no faerie dared test themselves on the iron throne, until a young man from the forges had stepped up to the challenge. Known as the most promising of the students, he had been involved in the creation of the throne. He strolled up, unbothered by the gravity of the situation. The executioner polished his sword and the court already mourned for a bright mind lost.

He slumped down on the throne, legs crossed, head rested on the palm of his hand.

The room was deathly silent.

All in the room dropped into a kneel so quickly the executioner nearly sat on his sword.  
Cries from the castle could be heard from all corners of the land.

_All Hail, Tony Stark, King of the Unseelie Lands._

-

May had a tendency to hide her son from her court.

Peter was just a child, and a toothy grinned one at that. He was unaware of the whispers his presence seemed to invite, and the titles he did not deserve. The court whispered of the Queen’s adopted son, the tainted, bastard prince. May’s blood boiled as they spoke of how she had shamed the Royal Bloodline.

He was blissfully unaware of most of this, and May was glad. He knew vaguely where he had come from—how May had found him on a doorstep as she rested in a commoner’s town. A baby, bundled in a thin blanket. He had been passed around for about a week as each morning, someone awoke with the baby crying outside their home, quickly brought him in before others could see, gave him a sleeping drought to keep him quiet, and left him outside another’s for the night.

He was sickly, from the cold and the drugs, and May had hurried him into her room and driven herself to a frenzy while nursing him to health. As soon as he had enough strength to journey back to court, she had travelled back, carrying him every mile, before arriving at her palace and rushing to her quarters.

The baby had a drop of human blood in him, which left him undesirable. It was noticeable in the slight roundness of his ears, how he fussed constantly, his premature height, and when grown, his clumsiness. As a child, he had been constantly bruised and battered, taking weeks to heal whereas others would take days.

Her court had divided itself. On one side, they were delighted that an heir had been named. May had firmly refused all acceptable suitors since the death of her husband, and her desire for children had been non-existent until Peter came along. But there were those who refused to call a tainted bastard a prince, spitting his name with as much forced respect as they could muster.

Pepper had been her godsend throughout. She watched over Peter and cared for him when May couldn’t; keeping him company before he had become old enough to meet his two only friends. She had been the one to find him the best tutors in the land, quenching his thirst for learning.

She was the only one who understood May about how much her little boy needed protection, because, sure, his human blood made him impervious to some faerie weaknesses that take centuries to overcome—such as lying, or touching iron—but it also made him perceptible to human weaknesses. He was softer than faeries; kinder and gentler. May had never known anyone to be sweeter than her son.

Where others saw a boy who could touch cold silver or iron without flinching, who roamed citrus fields and plays with bugs without so much as an ounce of fear, she saw a little boy with chubby hands chasing piskies in the garden. She bristled at how the Unseelie King’s trained ability to withstand iron had made him feared and respected, while Peter’s born gift made him something to hate.

When May saw the boy, she heard twinkly giggles as he stared, mesmerized, as the gentry folk’s illusions. The court saw a tainted faerie who could lie, not a child who blushed and stammered and apologized for it every time. Who blindly put his faith in everyone.

It would not take much to make Peter trust someone, and not much more to betray it.

She had gone through huge lengths to protect him. Illusions were banned in court, and Peter was to have someone assigned to him at all times. A delicate iron anklet was enchanted on him, always hidden under his socks, so he could pack one hell of a kick if needed. She knew that there were those who were sick enough to be fascinated by Peter’s mixed blood, and what that would signify in certain experiments; those who would politically assassinate a child before having a tainted king.

But apparently, her efforts weren’t enough.

Peter was only fourteen when he was taken by Norman Osborn.


	2. Peter is a Dumbass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the title says :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took so long to write this even though it's shit because I kept going back to watching youtube videos after like every paragraph.
> 
> I'll probably rewrite and update this to make it better but u kno just didn't want to leave y'all hangin bc I felt bad for taking so long considering I wanted to upload this two days ago
> 
> kk thx bye

Peter Parker was the smartest dumbass he’d ever had the displeasure of being.

Peter had planned his escape for three months, as Norman poked and prodded at his body, and when he finally pulled it off two weeks ago, he realized just how underprepared he was.

He had no food, no water, and no supplies, so when he saw a village at the clearing of the forest, he had jumped, albeit slightly hesitantly, at the chance. Which was really his stupid mistake number two. (The first was giving some of the little food he had to a lone kitten he saw in the forest, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.)

Although he didn’t have any money to offer, which was unfortunate, faeries wanted nothing if not for entertainment, and damn him, Norman Osborn may have done something with his genetic experiments. He hadn’t given him laser vision or mind control, which would have been very helpful (and also stupid of him to do.) No, he was now just a very gangly, wimpy, flexible boy.

Though he wasn’t about to complain when his tricks bought him some attention, and with that attention came money and food.

Then came the mistake number four, when he heard someone wailing several blocks away and had rushed to their rescue. As he was running, a thousand possibilities drifted through his mind, from murder to kidnapping.

As it turns out, it was the accidental death of a family dog who had attacked a soldier who had in defense, kicked him. A young woman was sobbing as the soldier apologized profusely

Until the soldier’s friend showed up out of nowhere, face scarlet with angry blood.

“Mutt had it coming. It was your fault that you didn’t control it. We could arrest you for treason for attacking a soldier,” he spat, as the first guy stood in shocked silence. The woman was inconsolable; hugging her dog as snot and tears dripped down her face.

And Peter, being the stupid idiot he is, unable to step aside even when the universe was telling him to, had butted in, “Hey, buddy. Maybe we should all just call it a day and go our separate ways, huh?”

If it was possible, his face got even redder. “How about you mind your own damn business? For all we know, this bitch did it on purpose. You know what attacking a soldier of the court warrants? At minimum, ten lashes. And if she doesn’t learn how to be grateful then I might as well take her up on it.”

 _Sadist,_ Peter thought, as he shot back, “That’s the shittiest law I’ve ever heard. She didn’t _do_ anything, jackass. And the dog is dead, anyway, so you can’t exact your revenge on him.”

Evidently, Peter is a stupid, stupid dumbass, and doesn’t think before he speaks, because everyone froze and even the woman’s whimpers quieted in a disbelief.

Sadist Guy grinned, which made him look more shark than human. “Well, when I said treason, I wasn’t giving a free invitation.”

Peter was confused, and he racked his brain thinking of how he committed treason, (other than the obvious Seelie being in Unseelie lands and all) before he settled on his last phrase. Despite being a prince, he didn’t take up his political studies as well as he ought to have, and so he didn’t know the laws of Unseelie.

But he did realize that mocking them might not be the best idea.

Sadist Guy smugly walked up to him, the other one grimacing and hunching along. “Well, if you’re so eager to get a whipping…. Maybe I’ll be nice and just let you off with a beating. How about that?” He lurked closer and closer, and Peter tensed in anticipation of the strike.

If he was smart, Peter would have just taken the beating and run along. If he was really smart, he never would have been in this situation to begin with.

As it was, he kicked the soldier where no man wants to be kicked. With the iron foot.

The guy doubled over, groaning and hitting the floor as the other soldier grabbed Peter’s arms so tightly he could feel them bruising. Once the sadist recollected himself, he violently pushed himself up, and Peter could see the sputtering rage in his eyes.

He barked orders to someone Peter didn’t know, and Peter felt cold iron cuffs slide on his wrists. And Peter didn’t fight against the cuffs, exactly, but he did tense to see if he was strong enough to get out of it, (he wasn’t). Not Iron, then, or at least not fully. So he let them push him around, tried to ignore the shaking of his hands as the soldier yelled for the whipping tree to be called, and sure enough, a grandiose oak tree suddenly grew from a circle of dirt surrounded by rocks.

Peter, despite how idiotic he was, still could tell that this was gonna suck.

And then mistake number three became apparent, when the softer soldier took off Peter’s shirt and tossed it to the ground.

When one doesn’t see a mark on the base of his spine that claims him as Seelie Spring Court, one forgets the need to cover the mark when he’s trespassing in enemy territory—at best, a rogue faerie breaching border, and at worst, an act of war.

And one is understandably surprised when the soldier hisses for assumably no reason, stepping back in wide-eyed shock.

Peter should have run the moment he had the chance, but his stupid ass stayed still, as he tried to make sense of what was the source of the bewilderment from the soldiers.

And too late did he realize that he had lost sight of the sadistic one, when a blow to the back of the head knocked him unconscious.

-

The first thing Peter did when he woke up was vomit.

In part to do with how he was chained to the back of a carriage travelling a rocky road, but also because of that head whack he’d gotten earlier. The stress of the situation probably hadn’t helped, either. The one satisfaction of this predicament was that he threw up one one of the soldier-guards, although he was sorry to see that it wasn’t the sadist.

He was surrounded by four guards, which he thought was a bit overkill, with Sadist at front, who, funnily enough, looked like he was trying not to bite his nails. Peter didn’t know why—if anything, he should be the one freaking out. And he was, to be completely honest. There was a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his enhanced hearing was picking up on every little noise, ricocheting in his concussed head. There were no birds, although he supposed that shouldn’t be surprising since it was evening, but there were crickets and the carriage rolling over dips and pebbles.

The sound that was really tearing his mind apart, though, was the low humming in the background of everything. It was vibrating in the base of his skull with a sense of unfamiliarity he had never heard before. Once every while, a high pitched whine would disrupt the humming, amd Peter would wince and fold into himself, which the guards snickered about.

He wondered where he was going, and considered asking the nicest looking of the guards, but one look from them told him everything he needed to know. Wherever it was, it wasn’t pretty, and they all were expected a show.

He had a grim suspicion that he was the main event.

He would’ve guessed it took the better part of an hour before the woods cleared up and he could see the stars again. He also saw a giant scary castle surrounded by a thick stone wall and he nearly peed his pants.

The auspicious feeling of his only got worse as they headed to the gate and, only twenty or so minutes later, passed through. He wished he was still asleep, so he could’ve been saved from this anxiety.

What else should he have expected? He was a Seelie Gentry on the wrong side of the border. Who else would see him but the king?

Peter had only heard stories of the Iron King. He remembered that once, May had gone to meet with him in the grove of the _Aos Sí_ , and she hugged him before she left and assured him with a low voice that she’d be back by nightfall. He hadn’t realized until then that the cause warranted the need for reassurance.

Apparently, it was not every day when some kid was called to court, because when the carriage pulled to a stop and Peter was manhandled out and pushed up the stairs, the servants and commoners gaped. Peter flashed them a peace sign from his chained wrists.

It became even more apparent when Peter was marched to an ornate door that the two standing guard at it had to push with all their strength to open. The doors revealed an intricate room, at the end of which, was a throne.

Peter saw the king before the room noticed him. He took in the throne, and the person on the throne, who must be the legendary Tony Stark, who was… a lot shorter than he thought he would be.

He had brown hair and eyes and his facial hair was shaved weirdly and _wow_ those stories made him seem a lot scarier than he really was. Not to say he wasn’t scary, because Peter was definitely scared, but it was almost funny how different the man sitting in front of him was to the eight-foot-tall red-eyed madman he had imagined him to be.

He really hoped that the court didn’t have a telepath because he really didn’t want to have his third trial for treason in one day.

The king looked bored. He was spilled on the throne like putty, with one of his legs nearly over the armrest, his head propped up by the back of his hand. As if every touch of the cold iron didn't burn his flesh. His expression didn’t change as Peter’s chained wrists were tugged forwards, making him almost lose his balance.

“Gargan,” Stark said, raising one of his eyebrows. “What the fuck.”

Peter blinked, effectively stunned. That was very much not what he was expecting.

Although, he supposes he didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe for him to immediately call him Seelie scum and execute him on the spot? Didn’t seem _that_ unlikely. Or maybe he’d get that this was all just a big misunderstanding and help him reunite with May.

That seemed very unlikely.

The sadist—Gargan, Peter realized—sputtered for a moment. “Uh, your highness, we found him in a village, and we thought it best to, um, bring him to you—”

The king seemed unimpressed. “And why did you think this was important enough to interrupt me? I am very busy, you know. I don’t think you realize what busy means. It means I don’t have time for this."

Peter would have smiled at how flustered Gargan was getting if he wasn’t so worried for his life.

“But you see, sire, he’s Seelie. We found him a week’s walk away from the border, and we haven’t received any reports of a breaching.”

Stark sighed, sitting up more properly. “Yes, I suppose that’s the kind of thing you lot would find important.” He stood up, and Gargan flinched besides Peter as he made his way over to the front of him. Peter tried to stand as tall as he could—even if the king was shorter than previously imagined, he was still a good head taller than Peter.

He stared him down for a moment, and Peter tried to match that glare back at him.

The king huffed a breath before turning to Gargan. “Go,” he said, addressing the other soldiers as well. “I’ll deal with you all later, when we’ll have a talk about what constitutes wasting my time.” He glared pointedly at Gargan, who shrunk under his gaze and scurried to leave the room. “Unchain him, too.”

“Sire—” one of the soldiers protested, but he only waved them off.

“He’s a kid. What’s he going to do, kill me?” Stark smiled, his dark eyes twinkling with amusing as he glanced Peter over. “Unchain him and leave us.”

Peter has to say he was very glad to get those chains off him, shaking the kinks out of his wrists once they were off. The guards and soldiers left, both relieved and disappointed, as quickly as they could while still trying to see dignified. Peter wanted to tell them it didn’t work.

The doors closed with a heavy thump, and Peter was alone with the king.

“Finally,” the king said, rolling his eyes. “They just drone on forever,” and for once Peter did the smart thing and didn’t respond.

Tony—Peter had decided to call him Tony—turned around, walking to the steps before his throne and slouching down on them. He beckoned him over, and Peter tentatively followed, sitting down a safe distance away. “So, he said, gesturing his hands wildly. “Why is a prince of Seelie in my lands?”

Peter took a sharp gasp. How had he known? As far as they knew, he was just some gentry fae. His mark told them nothing about his status.

Tony seemed to read his mind. “Word gets around, you know. Not many gentry faeries go missing too much. You should talk to your mother about stealth and secrecy. Not to mention..." his gaze dropped down to his wrists, and Peter belatedly hid them into his sleeves.  _Shit_ , the cuffs had some iron in them after all.

And his skin was barely red.

So he was smart then. Scratch that, not just smart. Dangerous, in more ways than one.

For the first time in a while, though, real, concrete hope began to bloom in his chest. “Can I see her?” He asked, then winced as his voice was an octave higher than it normally was.

Tony, however, shook his head. “Not yet,” he said, watching as Peter deflated. “But soon.”

Peter slightly perked up again. “Soon? What do you mean, soon? Can I go home now?”

The king chuckled, the sound dry. “Depends on what you tell me. Why are you here?”

Peter shifted on his feet uncomfortably, weighing the outcomes of this. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he ended up here. If anything, it was Norman’s and his stupid experiments. All he wanted was to go home. But he also had to be careful so he wouldn’t reveal anything that Tony didn’t know about Seelie. So he settled on the truth, just starting from Norman. About how he was kidnapped and held captive, before escaping and trying to find his way home. How he accidentally ended up here.

He left out the parts about how he was kidnapped, and how he escaped. He didn’t want to think about Harry.

Halfway through the explanation, Tony stood up, offering Peter a hand that he didn’t take. Peter faltered for a second, following Tony to wherever he was leading him before returning to his moaning about how he _misses home so much_ and he wanted to _give May the biggest hug_ and how he’d be _so, so thankful_ if Tony helped him get back home. It was easy to forget that he was begging the king of his enemies.

He was, however, silenced for good when they arrived in front of a door that he opened, revealing a suite.

“You’ll sleep here, for now,” Tony placed his hands on Peter’s shoulders and propelled him to the bed, crushing his hopes. “Don’t try to leave the room. I’ll decide what to do with you in the morning,” he said, before walking out of the room and shutting it closed. Peter didn’t hear a lock click, but he supposed that it didn’t matter. Peter had done too many stupid things that day to add _disobeying direct orders_ to the list.

Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep, but he did want to soak in the longest bath in the history of baths. He laid in the tub as he drew the water, feeling the filth flake off him and trying not to think of being in the heart of the Unseelie court, meeting Tony Stark, what this would mean for him, and most of all, how much he missed May.

He was in the water long enough that his fingertips were pruned when the low rumbling sound he hadn’t noticed had disappeared returned, only it was much, much louder. He could feel the floors vibrating with the hum, and the ripples of the water getting more ecstatic.

He tried to ignore it for a while; closing his eyes and trying to meditate, but it was disrupting his thinking. He assumed it was because the sound was so différent to any other noises he had ever heard before—he didn’t know if there was a word to quite describe it. It sounded almost… alive, but not really.

In the end, Peter gave up and stepped out of the bath, drying off with a towel before slipping on the only cotton tunic and shorts in the sea of silks and velvets. As he dressed, he tried to reason with himself, _don’t think about the noise too much, it’s probably nothing, you don’t need to worry about it and you_ definitely _don’t need to check it out_.

Peter, freshly washed, clothed, and curious, snuck out of his room, past the corridors, and down the stairs to wherever that noise was coming from.

-

Tony didn’t quite know what to think about the boy.

He was young—too young, to be here alone. The moral thing would be to return him to his mother, and forget this ever happened.

But he would be an idiot to deny the political power this kid had. The Seelie Queen had apparently gone mad trying to find her son and would do anything for his return. Having her in his power…

A common misconception is that Tony wanted to wage war on the Seelie court. He didn’t. He wasn’t war minded, and he didn’t very much appreciate the assumption that he was. Rather, he just liked being in control. Having the power to make that choice. And this would give him that power.

He pondered this, deep underground, in one of his labs. He was so entrapped in his thoughts that he nearly burned himself with a circuitry piece, Dum-E whining, when he decided that enough was enough. Morality didn't matter. Tony had stopped caring about the right thing to do years ago, and it never once factored into his life. What mattered was that this kid was a pawn in the game, that he was the prince of Seelie, that he could bring the Queen herself to kneel to get her boy back safe.

It didn’t matter that the pawn was a rosy cheeked, wide eyed, curly brown haired little boy.

It didn’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol
> 
> also thx for all them peeps who commented on the last chapter it was v nice and v much appreciated all o yalls were lovely pls comment again its the only way I measure my value in life as a person and as a writer


	3. we stan one (1) scheming king

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony brings an ultimatum of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this took a while.
> 
> I remember trying to write this months ago and it just wasn't flowing. and I was trying to write this the past days and it wasn't working at all, either. I ended up spending an hour plotting what's gonna go, the general guidelines and shit. The downside of dropping this fic for so long is that I forgot where I was gonna take it. the good thing is I have a plan, and I feel like its much more spicy than the old one. a lot more twists. more angst. more relevant cameos from other characters, and of course, the central focus is the relationship between Tony and Peter, but I think I also put in a lot more of Tony's backstory in this world. Like holy shit, I did NOT expect this man in a can in a weird candy land to have so much baggage going around, but it's Tony, so what did I even expect.
> 
> school's starting next week so I probs won't be on for a while. or maybe I will. I am great at procrastinating.
> 
> anyway, peace, bye lol.

Peter doesn’t expect to see anything as he pulls apart the two sides of the entrance. He had traced the noise to here, where it was echoing behind that door,  and no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get the door to budge.

So obviously, he used his super strength to rip it apart.

_ Shit, shit, shit, _ there’d be no hiding what he did now, and no hiding what he could do, what Norman had done to him. He had crumpled what looked to be copper, in a way that a large slab of copper should not be crumpled.

And now those doors revealed a tunnel, vertically straight down, pitch black and resonating the deep humming sound, thrumming in Peter’s head. This was the most stereotypically creepy setting that he had ever seen.

_ But if there was no way back, _ Peter reasoned with himself,  _ then the only way is forward. _

Peter stupidly, idiotically, dangerously jumped into the tunnel.

-

Okay, so he didn’t exactly fall straight down.

And he had Norman to thank for that. Instead of, you know,  _ dying _ , he caught himself part way down with his hands, sticking to the stone and climbing gently down.

He kept to the three-point rule: one limb detached at a time, ever-so-slowly making progress, until his feet finally found a hard, even surface, with a small, but audible thud.

He froze, holding his breath, and counted ten seconds. When the walls didn’t collapse in on him, he finally released it.

And found he was trapped, with no way out other than a small gap between the surface he stood on and—some kind of door? There was only an inch, maybe less, but light peeked through it, and Peter carefully contorted to put it on his eye level without making any sound, the surface thriving with the hum, vibrating against his chest. The light from the crack blinded him at first, but his eyes slowly adjusted to take in the surroundings.

_ What the fuck— _

It was a large room, a brilliantly bright room, even though it was dead at night, and he could see no fire anywhere—not even a candle. Even more, the room was scattered with pieces of metals—iron, tin, copper, gold. Sheets of it were strewn everywhere, along with thin wires of it that even his enhanced eyes could barely see them.

Towards the centre of the room, there was an intense blue light, that Peter couldn’t see the source from. He could, however, se the shadows on the floor, along with more metal? But it was moving. Why was the chunk of metal moving?

And then there were shoes.

_ Those are shoes. _

Real shoes worn by real feet, and if he crooked his neck just far enough, he could almost make out the—

Three metal claws suddenly materialized in front of him, staring back at him curiously, and Peter couldn’t silence the loud thud as he jumped back and hit his head on the stone wall behind him.

-

_ Freeze. _

_ Be silent. _

_ Don’t breathe. _

Footsteps came closer, closer. Peter bit his lips and prayed for the first time in years.

Silence.

Then, “Friday, lower the elevator by a foot.”

The floor beneath him started to stir as if it was coming alive, and it abruptly dropped down, revealing Peter for all to see.

And by all, he meant Tony Stark. The Iron King. The owner of the shoes.

_ Fuck. _

Startled, panicked eyes met Peter’s wild, terrified ones, as Tony Stark choked on his breath. Peter didn’t miss the shock in his eyes ebb away to disbelief, and finally, to anger.

A hand grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him out of his nook, pinning him against a wall.

“What the fuck? You  _ left _ your room? Are you stupid? What the  _ fuck? _ ” Tony sputtered. Peter, freaking out, didn’t have anything to stay as he stared back at the man in increasing fear.

“Did you fucking  _ follow me? _ ” Tony snarled, before Peter snapped back.

“No! I didn’t follow you, I swear!”

_ “Then how did you—” _

“I heard noise,” Peter’s voice wobbled. “The humming. It wouldn’t let me sleep. I wanted to figure out what it was. Mr. Stark, I swear, I wasn’t spying on you.”

It took a moment after the words were said, before the man suddenly released his grip on Peter, stepping back so unexpectedly that he nearly tripped. The terrible little goblin in Peter’s head just kept rambling on his mantra of  _ fuck, shit, what have you done, idiot. _

“Okay,” Tony let out a breath. “You’re a goddamned idiot, but okay.” Peter couldn’t help but flinch at the statement, however true it might be, and Tony faltered at it in turn. Peter couldn’t meet his eyes, but he could feel the uncertainty radiating off of the king, and imagined that he was counting to ten like Peter was.

Tony muttered to himself, so quietly that only Peter would be able to hear it,  _ I’ll deal with this tomorrow. It’s fine. It’s all fine. _ Then, louder, “You won’t come down here again. You won’t leave your room, unless I say so. And if you ever want to see your mother again, you will  _ not _ speak of this to  _ anyone.” _

Peter, still shaken from the ordeal, dropped his jaw. He figured he’d walked into something secretive, and judging by Tony’s reaction, even awful. It just took a while for him to realize the significance of a Seelie royal who had stumbled in on one of the Unseelie King’s secrets, whatever it may be. He didn’t need extensive political knowledge to figure that, even if he vowed silence now, if forced at hand, his court would have one last card to play .“Nonono, you can’t. Please, it’s been three months and she’s worried out of her mind and—”

Tony only shushed him with a sharp glare, unmoving in his stance.

“I won’t say a word, I promise. I’ll never tell May or Pepper, I won’t even say it to myself. I  _ promise— _ ”

Tony grabbed Peter’s arm, pulling him into the “elevator” that was apparently open, now, and a box-like something. He pressed a button, then faced him, glaring. “You forget, young prince, that you are half mortal. You can lie, and I would be a fool to accept your words for truth.”

Peter’s mouth flapped open, trying to think of a way, any way, to convince the king that he wouldn’t be a threat.

The doors began to close.

Tony glowered at him one last time. “If you leave your room again, I’ll know.”

And the doors shut, leaving Peter crestfallen in the darkness.

-

Tony probably should have escorted Peter back to his room. He had no idea if the kid even knew where his room was, much less if he wandered. But the kid had looked so shaken that Tony had a hard time thinking he would defy direct orders, and besides, Tony needed time to think.

Someone knew his secret. The one that would unfold other secrets. And not just anyone, but a Seelie Prince had found it out.

There was so much that didn’t add up to his story—such as the noise he talked about. As far as Tony knew, there was no noise, and he was standing at the source of the machines.

(That didn’t stop himself from checking every single thing with a battery down there.)

And how would he hear it, anyway? If the sounds were really as prominent as the kid would lead him to believe, surely some other faerie, older and more possessive of common sense and survival instincts, would have discovered his lab by now.

And then there was the look on his face as Tony ordered his silence. The realization dawning on the kid as he finally grasped the situation, understood its gravity. The sadness that came with the knowledge that, although Tony didn’t say it, there was enough political power in his containment  _ before _ he had leverage against the king.

Now, it would be incredibly foolish to let him go that easily.

But maybe it was better for the prince to be out of his court? Afterall, it would be the Unseelie fey that would rise against him. And it’s not as if Peter figured out the truth anyway—just the existence of it. Keeping him here, where he can poke around more, could be suicide.

And yet Peter knew that if word spread, Tony would know it was him. And then, assumably, execution by treason. And when that doesn’t stick, considering Peter wasn’t betraying his own court, trespassing. With executions being a formal event, it would be a clear act of war. The kid must know that the war would result in heavy losses, many on his own side. He would not wish to have it on Unseelie terms.

Anyway, he doesn’t strike the kind who would easily give up his life like that. Not when there was a way to fight it.

God, Tony was getting a headache. And there was a smarting in his chest, where his heart should be. He would have to get properly drunk before he even started thinking about Pepper—

Nope. No. Wasn’t going to go there.

It’ll all be okay. Everything will be fine. He’ll deal with this in the morning.

He’ll deal with all of this tomorrow.

-

The worst thing about seeing Peter the next morning, he supposed, was the nervous defeat in his eyes. As if he had already accepted failure, ready to wave the white flag, but still worried that he would be stabbed in the back.

The already complicated circumstances were not helped by the manner in which they saw each other.

Gargan, dragging Peter into the throne room, right up to the steps of the throne, a clear parallel to the night before.

“Sire, apologies for the interruptions, but a servant has said she witnessed the prisoner go out of his room.” He all but spat it out, as the boy in question skittishly looked anywhere but the two other fey in the room. 

“Did he, now,” Tony said dryly, seemingly unimpressed by his statement.

Gargan sputtered. “Sire, all evidence points to his being a spy in the court! Even the way in which he was captured: blatant and obvious treason. Surely you must think—”

God, Tony couldn’t take any more of this. “And what then, Gargan? Say he is a spy. He’s from the seelie gentry. He’s been caught, and now is our prisoner. Say he’s favoured in court, and the Queen would do anything to get him back.” Peter spurred at the mention of her, but Tony pushed on. “If she was smart, she’d name him to replace the current Seelie ambassador. You do realize that mistreatment of an ambassador is a blatant—”

“—Invitation to war,” Peter muttered. Tony smiled wickedly. At least he knew the standing they were on.

“Exactly so.” Tony knew this was a little bit of a stretch—ambassadors required previous communication, and as long as Peter wasn’t named before his execution, they were technically breaching no laws. What mattered was what Gargan believed: to weave a story just believable enough so that he understood the gravity of the situation, and something just outside of his range of power so that he didn’t needlessly meddle anymore.

“Then invite the war! It’s been a long time coming. We can unite the two lands and rise you as King of  _ all _ of Faerie!”

Gargan was very stupid.

Tony’s eyes glinted at him dangerously. “Speaking of treason…” He stood up from his throne, strolling closer to the man. He could see the panic blooming in his eyes as he combed through what he had said, poking for anything treacherous. He could see him realize what he had done.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to order you—” he stuttered. Tony was now in front of him, Gargan staring down at his shoes. “Of course you know best, Your Highness, I apologize—”

Tony sighed. These lot really were boring. But he didn’t miss the spark of amusement from the fae boy watching it unfold.

He sat down, not on the throne, but the steps leading up to it. “Really, Gargan, one would think that War Strategy wasn’t taught to all generals. There are too many variables. Perhaps the Seelie counted on a War Claim. What if they’re prepared? We’re not,  _ yet _ . Believe me that  _ if _ I were to claim war, it would be to  _ win _ , and I would make certain of our winning.” He didn’t have to look at Peter to hear the sharp breath he took. Tony knew nothing if he didn’t know how to put people in their place. The prince’s as valuable, vulnerable, trespasser. Gargan’s as expendable. An ant.

“Leave, now.” Tony dismissed him with a wave, sinking lower into his seat. The young prince looked uncomfortable, stumbling over his feet as Gargan pulled him along with him. Tony rolled his eyes. “Not you, boy.”

Peter, looking both surprised and dreadful, planted his feet on the ground, and Gargan nearly lost his balance at the sudden resistance. He quickly composed himself, gave a final bow, and left the room. Tony wondered if he believed he was doing a good job of hiding that scowl.

The kid kept shuffling his shoes as if he was a small child, and Tony felt the corner of his lips tug up, slightly. He really was a toddler, squishy cheeks and all.

So how did this toddler survive a 100 foot drop?

Tony beckoned the kid closer, schooling his expression excessively neutral. Peter obviously didn’t have the same training, and his face was an open book of wariness and doubt.

“You can imagine what kind of political pressure you’ve put on me,” he starts, drawling the words carefully. He sees Peter nod slightly and continues. “Lucky for you, I’m prepared to make a deal with you.”

Peter kept his eyes trained on the floor, untrusting of anything. Good. At least he was learning.

“You’ve been hiding things. Keeping secrets. I don’t like that.” Jesus, the kid was so responsive, vaguely folding in on himself at the accusation. How could this boy ever be King? “I want you to tell me everything. The  _ truth _ .”

“But—” the kid starts off, no doubt offended that his word counts for so little, here. Tony didn’t care.

There was one thing that Tony desperately needed. Something that Peter could provide.

Information. A lot of it.

And while the prince would never betray Seelie secrets wittingly…. well, Tony had some experience in playing the long game.

For now, all he needed was the invitation, the initial build-up. He needed Peter to tell him the truth, to hold nothing back, to feel comfortable and even relieved about it. He needed to gain his trust.

“Tell me everything. Everything about Norman Osborn’s experiments. Everything about how you snuck out of your room last night, how you fell ten stories without a sound. And if I believe you…”

Tony ignored the sting of his chest. Peter looked at war with himself, caught between suspicion and the tiniest bit of hope.

“If I believe you’re telling the truth, I’ll bring your mother to my court.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl I don't love this chapter but it's what I have, and I felt awful for not posting in so long. In other news, I also just started yet another marvel fic. If you like this one, you might also like that one, idk it has similar feelings to me, even tho this is VERY heavy on au so. that one should be much shorter than this fic though so it'll probs be done sooner. once I'm done with this fic tho, I think I'll rewrite it, to better distribute the pods and what's happening. wow, I love story notes where I just ramble on about absolutely nothing.
> 
> follow my cats on insta @carpeoppy they're super cute.
> 
> k byeee

**Author's Note:**

> thx babes


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